


A Summer Fling, and Something More

by Nia_River



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, F/M, Female Harry Potter, One Shot, Past Infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-02 23:42:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4078402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nia_River/pseuds/Nia_River
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hattie Potter is consummately professional on the job, even if her bastard ex-husband <i>is</i> a co-worker. Nonetheless, circumstances conspire against her and she finds herself put on paid leave against her will. Andromeda thinks this is the perfect time for her grandson’s overworked godmother to take a holiday. She sends Hattie off to southern Italy with orders to sunbathe, flirt with cute boys and maybe have a summer fling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Summer Fling, and Something More

**Author's Note:**

> This is another ‘I wrote it ages ago and forgot it’ fic. From the same hugemungous, previously-lost Word document as ‘A Good Teacher’, actually. The only difference was that this one was only half-written. When I reread it my muse got all excited, and out poured the rest. And thus I present to you this resurrected, now-complete story.

Hattie remembered being fifteen and sitting down to that awkward careers discussion with McGonagall, which Umbridge had barged in on. “Auror,” she’d said back then—more because it was the only thing anyone had ever suggested than because she’d given the topic deep thought. Sure it worked out in the end, but Hattie hadn’t _really_ had a clear view of where her life was headed. Well, except that Voldemort was sure to make things difficult.

If the idea had been put to her back then, that in ten years’ time she’d be a divorced sort-of-single-mother? Hattie wouldn’t have scoffed per se —life _did_ have an annoying habit of going to shit for her— but she _would_ have been upset.

And so here she was at twenty-five —Hattie Potter, the Girl Who Lived to become the Witch Which Won (the wizarding world’s latest inane nickname for her)— wondering how it had come to this. Her happy life had been shattered when she’d found her husband in bed with her best friend. To top it all off, the messy divorce that followed had put a strain on her relationship with the Weasley family as a whole. It was even affecting her work!

“The press has been getting the public all fired up,” Head Auror Robards told her a few weeks after the divorce was finalised, having called her into his office for a private meeting. “Ranting about values and traditions, you know. It’s all just a bit of a mess.”

“ _It’s_ a mess?” Hattie asked tiredly. “How about my _life_ is a mess? Honestly sir, I couldn’t give a Merlin’s own damn about the press and the public. After the Heir of Slytherin accusations when I was twelve, Skeeter’s crap when I was fourteen and entered into that bloody tournament, the Ministry’s own slander campaign when I was fifteen and they were denying Voldemort’s return, the Undesirable Number One business when I was seventeen and on the run… After all that. Honestly? I’m used to the public’s fickleness. I’m not going to waste time fretting because they’re so old-fashioned they disapprove of me divorcing my _cheating bastard_ of a husband.”

“Right, of course. Quite understandable.” Robards shifted uncomfortably on his chair and fiddled with a quill. He cleared his throat. “The problem is that it’s started interfering with the smooth running of the department.”

Hattie grimaced. “Right. The howlers. Look, I have personal mail wards up and I never accept direct correspondence. Beyond that, I don’t have clearance to go messing with the Ministry’s own owl wards. So really, the fact that some people were clever enough to address them to the Auror Office, instead of to me directly, isn’t my fault.”

“No, of course not. But it is a problem. Just like with that suspect yesterday that got away. The one we’d been tracking for months.”

“I know, I _know_.” She rubbed her eyes beneath her glasses. “Those two old witches came out of nowhere, sir, I swear. I don’t know what they were thinking, interrupting a pursuit to badger me about the divorce. As if it were _any_ of their business.”

“Yes, I read the report. Still… And then there’s the fact that the rotations have had to be completely reorganised because we can’t have you and Auror Weasley partnering up because, even though you’ve both been rigidly proper on the clock, all the other employees still feel the need to stop and stare and _nothing_ gets done.”

She sighed. “Look Robards, quit dodging and tell me what this is about. ’Cause if you’ve a solution to people’s recent idiocy that I haven’t thought of yet, I’d love to hear it.”

“I think you should take some time off.”

Hattie froze. “Excuse me?” she said in a strained tone that warned of imminent fury if he wasn’t very careful. “Are you suspending me despite having acted _completely professionally?_ Because if so, you can be prepared for one hell of a—”

“Not a suspension!” Robards quickly said, hands held up, placating. “Think of it as a holiday, a fully-paid leave, no hint of censure in your personnel file. You’re a brilliant Auror, Potter —one of our best— but the unfair fact of it is that right now, you’re a liability. I get that it’s not your fault, but that’s how it is.”

She wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all. Too damn right it wasn’t her fault! It was the fault of the stupid press, and the stupid public, and her stupid former husband. But Robards was just being pragmatic.

“You better bloody well be giving Ron this same talk,” she warned.

Robards nodded. “Saw him earlier this morning. He reacted about the same as you.”

“We’re not the same,” she muttered, crossing her arms. “Nothing alike. _I_ for one understand honour and loyalty.”

Robards looked supremely uncomfortable and, very tactfully, made no mention of her comment.

* * *

“Well it _is_ , unfortunately, quite reasonable of him,” Andromeda said later that day over tea. “He could keep you on to prove a point, and end up paying for it in productivity and case closure rates. Or, he can get you out of the picture till things calm down. And at least Mr Weasley’s experiencing the same consequences. Robards isn’t playing favourites.”

“Stop being so logical,” Hattie complained. “You’re meant to be on my side.”

Andromeda rolled her eyes. “I _am_ on your side. Which is why I think a break would actually be good for you. You’ve been working nonstop for months, since it all fell apart. You could do with a holiday. Now stop sulking—I get enough of that with Teddy.”

“I’m not sulking. Speaking of Teddy, where _is_ my adorable godson? At least _he’s_ always appropriately sympathetic.”

“He’s visiting the boy over the road. He should be back—” Andromeda cut off at the sound of the front door slamming open and shut, followed by rapid footsteps. “Well, right now it seems.”

Teddy was, honestly, the brightest thing in Hattie’s life at the moment. He’d been the brightest thing since the war ended really. It had occasionally made Ron jealous, not being the centre of her world, and he’d never gotten as close to Teddy as she’d hoped. He’d even sometimes grumbled about sharing Grimmauld with Teddy and Andromeda rather than having the place to themselves! Given recent events, the distance was probably for the better. Teddy didn’t need to feel betrayed by a father figure or heartbroken by the divorce.

“Aunt Hattie!” Teddy squealed, launching himself into her lap.

“Oof! Merlin, brat, you’re getting too heavy to be throwing yourself at me.”

“Nu-uh,” Teddy denied, hugging her tightly. “Missed you. Has Ron been good at work? Because I’ll beat him up for you if he’s been mean.” He was still pressed close, despite having declared himself ‘too old for cuddles’ last year. “The stupid git.”

“Teddy,” Hattie and Andromeda chorused. “Language!”

“But he _is!_ ”

No, Teddy wasn’t heartbroken in the least. Instead he was angry at Ron and extra protective of Hattie. She’d gone to Andromeda when she discovered Ron and Hermione together. Between anguished sobs she’d spilled the whole story to the woman, who listened and offered comfort. Neither realised Teddy had woken till he ran into the room, pushed tissues at Hattie so she could dry her tears and ‘stop being sad’, and then declared his eternal hatred for Ronald Weasley.

“So, your aunt’s decided to go on holiday,” Andromeda said.

“Really?” Teddy pulled back to frown up at her. “Where are you going? You won’t be away long, will you?”

“No Teddy, it’s not that sort of—”

“Italy, I think,” Andromeda cut in. Hattie sent her a wide-eyed look. “What? You thought I’d let you mope about? Or find something else to work yourself into exhaustion over? Oh yes, I know you were thinking it.”

“But Italy?”

“Sun, warm weather, sandy beaches and bathing costumes? It’s the perfect setup for a summer fling. Ted and I invested in a nice little holiday house thereabouts in fact. I’d be perfect. You can borrow it.”

Hattie grimaced. “Andromeda I don’t—”

“You’re _not_ going to refuse my most generous offer, Harriet Jane Potter.” Andromeda’s tone was steely and uncompromising. “You _are_ going to go on holiday, and flirt with the cute Italian boys, and finally stop dwelling on that idiot Ronald Weasley.”

“Idiot,” Teddy parroted firmly.

“It will be good for you,” Andromeda continued, bulldozing over her protests. Then she pulled out the big guns. “We’ll visit of course. There’s Easter holidays coming up next month and Teddy hasn’t been to the beach in positively _ages_. Doesn’t that sound exciting Teddy? A family trip to southern Italy?”

“Really?” the boy asked, all excitement. “Really grandma? Really Aunt Hattie?”

“Yes Hattie,” Andromeda said, with a smug smile. Teddy had progressed to the puppy dog eyes. “You wouldn’t deny your adorable godson his beach holiday, would you? You wouldn’t break his heart, crush his hopes, destroy his dreams—”

“Alright, alright already!” Hattie hissed, caving. “Fine, I’ll go to Italy you manipulative snake. No _wonder_ you were in Slytherin.”

“Yes!” Teddy cheered.

“Stop pouting dear,” Andromeda said.

Hattie maintained that she was _not_ pouting … and then not-pouted harder.

* * *

And so, by week’s end, Hattie found herself on the other side of the channel, on a picturesque, magical-only island in the Mediterranean. Andromeda’s place overlooked the beach, being one among the tiers of whitewashed houses that climbed the cliff-side. It was terribly pretty, like a postcard photo of a Greek island … which confused her a bit, because she wasn’t in Greece at all, but rather Italy.

Hattie spent the first week on the white, sandy beach. She spent hours out in the crystal clear water, diving under waves and floating on the ocean, and when she grew tired she worked on her tan, wearing large sunglasses in an attempt to disguise her identity. The glasses seemed to be working, or perhaps her fame just didn’t extend much past Britain. The sunbathing wasn’t as successful, since Hattie quickly discovered her ivory skin didn’t tan so much as burn. The peeling wasn’t fun. She slathered on a heavy-duty sunscreen potion after that, and resigned herself to being the palest person on the beach.

A week seemed to be her limit for pointless frivolity however, because after that Hattie found herself growing bored and restless. Serendipitously, that was when she overheard something during breakfast one morning at the little café she’d taken to frequenting. The conversation was held between another couple of tourists, and provided her something new to do.

“—a market fair. Supposed to be lots of fun,” a woman was telling her companion in a cajoling tone. “Come on, it’s not far. The town’s just north of here. They only set up once a year, and this week’s it.”

“Fine,” the man sighed. “But please, try not to spend all our savings. I know you and shopping, and filing for bankruptcy would _not_ be a good end to our honeymoon.”

As the woman crowed her victory and dragged her husband off, Hattie considered what she’d heard. In the end, she decided she had nothing better to do with her time right now, and might as well check it out. In fact, she decided, taking in the perfect weather, she could just walk there rather than Apparate. It was a good day for it, and she needed to keep in shape for when she finally returned to active Auror duty.

A half hour’s trip at a leisurely pace brought Hattie to a town much like the one she’d just left, except larger and sprawling outwards rather than upwards. The market wasn’t hard to find—she just followed the crowds and noise to the large town square, which had been set up with colourful stalls and entertainment of all sorts. It was all very lively.

Hattie spent the day wandering the market and picked up a few things. There was a nice silk scarf for Andromeda and a little carved wolf figurine, which was enchanted to prowl around, for Teddy. She found herself a pretty, sky-blue sundress —her normal clothes had proved a little heavy for the warm weather— then purchased a straw hat too, since the walk had turned her nose pink.

Hattie returned the next day, and the one after that. It was on the fourth that disaster struck.

Halfway between towns, with not a soul in sight, Hattie turned a corner and was ambushed. Before she could do more than reach for her bag, she was Stunned into unconsciousness.

* * *

“Hey, you awake?”

Hattie blinked her eyes open at the sound of the voice. She was in an unfamiliar place, a dark room, and could barely make out the figure of the man next to her. He was tall, broad-shouldered and dark-skinned, but she couldn’t tell much more than that. Her hands were bound above her head. Since, from what little she could see, so were his, she figured they’d found themselves in the same predicament.

“Oh bloody hell,” she groaned. “The guys at work are going to give me so much shit for this. Amateurs getting the jump on me? I’ve let my guard slip.”

“Amateurs?” drawled the man, who, now that she was focussing, sounded very vaguely familiar.

“They didn’t even Disillusion themselves,” she explained. “Just jumped out at me. If I hadn’t tucked my wand away in my bag like a _rookie idiot_ I could’ve Stunned them before they realised what was happening. There were only _two_ ,” she said, as if insulted they hadn’t sent more.

The man chuckled. “I see. Well, can’t say _I_ was on guard either, but I wasn’t exactly expecting to be kidnapped. What about you? You seem to be taking this pretty well.”

Hattie sighed. “It’s not that I was expecting it. Not really. But it doesn’t surprise me either, what with my luck. I’ve been in worse spots. And you? You seem pretty calm as well.”

He shrugged. “Can’t see that panicking will help any.”

“What’s your name anyway? You seem familiar. Have I run into you somewhere? Maybe the market?”

“I’m Blaise,” the man said.

“Wait, as in _Zabini?_ ”

“… Yes,” he said after a pause, voice now faintly suspicious. “How do you know me?”

She snorted. “We only went to school together, Zabini.” She saw the outline of his head tilt to the side. “Hattie Potter.”

“Oh. Well, this _is_ unexpected.”

“Yeah.” She rested her head back against the wall, trying to shift her wrists in their cuffs and, sadly, finding no weaknesses. “Any chance you can get out of your binds? Mine are solid.”

“No. Already tried.”

They fell into silence then. Hattie’s eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness, and she could now make out those ubiquitous white walls, a stone floor, racks of wine and a set of stairs going upwards. Added to the lack of windows, she guessed they were in someone’s cellar.

“So, I can think of a dozen reasons just offhand why someone would want to kidnap _me_ ,” she said. “Why are you here?”

He looked at her a moment. “Zabini,” he said, like that explained it all.

As the pause lengthened, she tried to complete the statement: “… is your name?”

He laughed. “No Potter, I’m a Zabini. That means something.” His head tilted again, and now she could make out the way one eyebrow rose. “You really have no idea, do you?”

“Stop being cryptic,” she snapped.

“My mother’s had seven husbands, each one richer than the last. She’s amassed quite a fortune.”

Hattie stared. “Are you suggesting she—”

“All died of natural causes,” Zabini said tiredly, “for all that everyone doubts it. Still, we’re worth quite a bit of money. And it’s a small family—just maman and I since my uncle passed a few years back. They’re probably thinking to ransom me. _You’d_ be worth a pretty penny too, I imagine. Inherited the Potter _and_ Black fortunes, right?”

“Yeah,” she muttered. “Plus a few others that people left to the ‘Girl Who Lived’ after the first war, or the ‘Witch Which Won’ after the second.”

“ _And_ you’re a national icon. The British Ministry itself would probably pay for you.”

“Well, if it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer _not_ to fund criminals.”

“I’m open to suggestions,” Zabini drawled.

Hattie brought her feet up so she was crouching. With the slack, she was able to grasp the chains attached to her cuffs. She twisted them around her wrists twice for a better grip, braced her shoulders and then pulled as hard as she could. There was a grinding sound and a fall of white dust. Hattie grinned at Zabini and yanked again. He hummed, nodded, and copied her actions. They froze once, hearing noise from upstairs, but no one appeared to investigate so they soon continued.

Hattie was a bit annoyed that Zabini managed to pull his own bolts out first, but she supposed that on purely physical strength he had her beat. She was surprised when he helped her with her own chains afterwards though, rather than getting the hell out of dodge. It didn’t really fit the Slytherin reputation of ‘self-preservation first’. Then again, she should know better than to stereotype given her relationship with Andromeda—for all that the woman had been a Slytherin, Harriet had rarely met someone so loyal.

Once freed, at least partially, Hattie was able to bring her arms down to her lap and get a proper look over her binds. The bolts formerly embedded in the wall each led to a chain which attached to the cuffs on her wrists. The cuffs were formed of two solid pieces of metal that swung closed on a hinge. The metal was flat except for two areas on each piece, where they bulged outwards to form a gap to house her wrists. On the opposite end from the hinge was a sturdy lock and, though she wasn’t _sure_ , Hattie thought she could pick it. Maybe. The twins had given her some lessons after they and Ron rescued her from the Dursleys before second year and had to liberate her trunk, which had been locked up under the stairs. Just in case, they’d said. She wasn’t brilliant at it though.

She reached up to her hair and winced. The cuffs didn’t really allow her wrists to separate or rotate, and the pins were at the back of her head. She tried reaching up and over rather than around, but couldn’t bend her wrists back far enough.

“Damn it.”

“Perhaps I could be of assistance,” Zabini suggested. “I’m assuming you’ve a deeper purpose than just fixing your hair.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” She turned around. “Can you pull out the pins?”

He did so and she could feel her annoyingly wild hair loosening. She hoped the tie would keep it back till they got out of this. Sometimes she thought she should just cut if off, but could never bring herself to do so.

Zabini’s cuffs took her a good five to ten minutes to release, and then she had to guide him through picking hers as well, since the angle was too awkward to do herself.

“Where in Merlin’s name did you even learn this?”

“Weasley twins,” she said. “Who else would I know that’d think to develop such an underhanded, Muggle talent as lock-picking?”

“Point,” he said, giving a low sound of triumph as Hattie’s shackles finally clicked open.

“So,” she said, rubbing her sore wrists, “the only way out looks to be up, but if there’s anyone waiting there…” She cleared her throat, and reluctantly admitted that, “Now’s probably a good time to mention that although I’m a fully-trained Auror —and a bloody brilliant one to boot— my physical skills are more effective in the realms of speed and agility than strength and fist fights. I’m really much better with magic to back me up.”

“We’ll be fine,” Zabini said, heading for the stairs. “Come on. No point in waiting.”

There were six men in the house, and all were disabled within minutes and locked in the cellar. Hattie had only been responsible for two of those. Apparently, where _her_ physical fighting skills lacked, Zabini’s excelled.

“Wow, that was—” She cleared her throat, because that came out a bit more breathless than she was comfortable with. “That was impressive. With the flippy thing. And braining that other one with a vase.”

Zabini gave her a little smirk. “My papà —maman’s first husband, Lord Zabini— was a Hit Wizard for the ICW. He taught me a thing or two and maman got me tutors to keep learning after he was gone. Like I said, wealth attracts unpleasant attention, and she wanted me safe.”

“Well,” Hattie said awkwardly. “Good job, and all that. Now where’ve our wands gotten t—”

She was cut off mid-word by a sudden flash of light and a sickening crack, and Zabini went down with a cry of pain and a broken leg. Apparently there was a seventh kidnapper who hadn’t been present when they emerged from the basement.

Hattie didn’t think, just acted. She dove behind a sofa, reassured that Zabini had fallen backwards behind a corner and thus out of the line of direct fire. She was still holding the wands she’d confiscated from their attackers. Grasping the one which had felt most comfortable in her dominant hand, she fell into Auror-mode and began exchanging spell-fire with the latest attacker. It didn’t take her long to emerge triumphant.

“Are you alright?” Zabini asked when the fight was over.

“Am _I_ alright? You’re the one with the broken leg.”

“That Cutting Hex you took to the side doesn’t look too good either.”

She winced. “I’ll be fine,” she said dismissively. It always made her uncomfortable, admitting to weaknesses. Especially injuries—people always got so worked up about those. “Now, as soon as we find our wands and stuff, we can get out of here.”

“Accio?” he suggested, and soon they had their belongings back in hand. “I’ll Side-Along Apparate us to my place if you’ll make sure I don’t fall on this leg,” Zabini offered as she helped him up, tugging one of his arms over her shoulder to help him balance on his good foot. “We can Floo the local Auror Offices from there, as well as get these injuries seen to.”

“Alright.”

* * *

Lady Zabini was waiting at the house along with the Aurors. Apparently she’d already alerted them to the fact that her son had been taken and a ransom demand delivered.

She was nothing like Hattie expected. Not that Hattie knew what that was—perhaps someone as self-assured and beautiful as her son, or as terrifying as her reputation? Instead Hattie found herself presented with a tiny, delicate-looking woman with dark skin and a plain face creased with smile lines. There were tears on her cheeks and open relief in her eyes when she spotted them.

“Blaise!” she cried, hurrying forwards.

“Maman,” Zabini said with uncharacteristic warmth, wrapping his free arm tenderly around his mother. “I’m fine, shh, no tears now. Just a broken leg is all.”

“A _broken leg?_ ” Lady Zabini cried, not at all appeased. “Zookie!” she called and an elf appeared. “Zookie, call for a healer at once!”

“Lady Zabini, young Lord Zabini,” a middle-aged Auror said, interrupting their reunion. “Sorry, but we have some questions.”

Hattie and Zabini filled the Aurors in on the particulars of what happened to them, and Hattie learned that, yes, her fame was indeed lesser outside Britain—the Auror clearly recognised her, yet did little more than raise an eyebrow at learning her identity. Lady Zabini made more fuss over her than anyone else in the room, but that was to press kisses of thanks to her cheek when she heard all Hattie had done to get them out of there.

“You saved my son!” she exclaimed once the Aurors were done and on their way to pick up the kidnappers. “How can I repay you?”

“Oh, no,” Hattie insisted. “Honestly, we sort of saved each other. He’s really a very competent fighter.”

“Perhaps as thanks you can convince her to accept the healer’s attentions,” Zabini suggested.

“You’re hurt?” And then, with perfect timing, the house-elf returned leading a healer into the room. “Quickly,” Lady Zabini insisted, in her subtly French accent. “They are both gravely wounded.”

“Hardly grave, maman,” Zabini said with a smirk at Hattie, who clearly couldn’t think of a way to avoid treatment without being rude. “Though you should probably see to Ms Potter first. She’s still bleeding.”

It turned out her wound was worse than Hattie realised. The cut sliced across her side and curved up her back. It left an ugly scar, but the Healer provided a salve and promised that if she applied it twice daily for a month, the scar would fade. Hattie was relieved—she had enough scars already without adding more.

* * *

Though she would never quite grasp how it happened, Mrs Zabini —“Call me Marie, dear, I insist.”— convinced Hattie first to stay for dinner, and then, because it was so late, to spend the night in one of their guest suites. And _then_ , the next morning, as Marie helped Hattie apply the healer’s salve, she somehow pointed out that since there were areas of her scar Hattie couldn’t reach, and no one back at her holiday home to help, of _course_ she must stay a little longer if only for the assistance.

“It is only sensible,” Marie said matter-of-factly, and that was that.

When Marie announced over breakfast on the patio that Hattie would be staying, Zabini narrowed his eyes at his mother. She looked back with an innocent smile, but Hattie thought she saw a twinkle in her eyes. Zabini then glanced at Hattie, back to his mother, looked skyward, shook his head and laughed.

“Of course maman, whatever you wish,” he said indulgently.

Hattie looked between them, wondering what she had missed.

All in all, it was no chore to stay at the Zabini Villa. It was much further inland than the cliff-side house Andromeda owned, but it was also grander and set atop a mountain that afforded panoramic views of the verdant island and ocean beyond. The house-elf cooked delicious meals and Marie was sweet and fun to talk to—apparently she was a Quidditch fan of all things. As for Zabini, he accompanied Hattie when she visited the market, Marie insisting that neither go off alone after what had happened. He proved good company too: unflappable, but with a clever, dry sense of humour.

A week into her stay at the villa, Marie declared that she had business to attend to in Nice. That evening, Hattie sat in her room trying to apply her salve alone for the first time, and found herself frustrated. She’d been told not to aggravate the scar, but she couldn’t reach the back without twisting in a way that sent a sharp pain up the still-healing skin.

She considered doing without, but her eyes caught on the Blood Quill scar on the back of one hand. Her gaze then shifted to the knotted scar in the crook of one elbow from Voldemort’s resurrection, and next to the circular pucker on the opposite forearm from the Basilisk’s fang. She really didn’t want any more morbid reminders, Hattie admitted. And so, with a sigh, she went looking for Zabini.

He was sitting in the lounge when she found him, reading something Hattie couldn’t decipher, being as the book was in French. The translation charm could only assist with a single language at a time, and she was currently artificially fluent in Italian, given the location.

Zabini glanced up and set his book aside at once. He was a rather attentive host, she’d found. Hattie expected this was Marie’s influence, as the woman scolded the least bit of misbehaviour in him —if gently— and took it as given when he treated his mother as a queen.

“What can I do for you?” he asked.

“I was wondering if I could borrow Zookie? I’m having a bit of trouble applying the cream the healer gave me. I pull too much on the scar tissue.”

Zabini sighed. It was a sound Hattie had come to be familiar with, one of fond exasperation which he generally directed towards his mother. Hattie wondered what _she’d_ done to be the one to earn it this time. Except it wasn’t for her at all, it seemed.

“Maman took Zookie along to ‘assist her’,” Zabini explained, shaking his head. “She’s not as subtle as she thinks she is.”

“Pardon?”

Zabini gave her a close look, one eyebrow tipped. Then he laughed lightly and stood.

“You’re laughing at me,” Hattie said, wondering if she should be offended. “ _Why_ are you laughing at me?”

“I’ve found you to be a rather intelligent conversationalist in the time you’ve spent here, and I suppose I forgot that you are, indeed, a Gryffindor.”

She crossed her arms. “Okay, I’m still not sure where you’re going with that backhanded compliment, but I think I should be offended.”

“Just observing that Gryffindors can be a bit oblivious at times.” Zabini smirked when she huffed, still looking confused, and then he stepped closer. “My mother,” he drawled, “is trying to play matchmaker.”

Hattie stared for a moment, uncomprehending, until it clicked. Suddenly a lot of Marie’s comments and actions took on a new dimension and she wanted to smack herself for being, yes, _oblivious_. She flushed a bit as Zabini stood barely two feet away from her, looking supremely amused by her embarrassment.

“Bastard,” she muttered.

Zabini laughed. It wasn’t the quiet, fond sound he saved for his mother. Nor was it the amused yet restrained puff of air everyone else got. No, this was a wicked sort of chuckle that gave Hattie goosebumps, which she sincerely hoped he didn’t notice. It was bad enough she’d caught herself admiring the sight of him on occasion during her stay. Now, with Marie’s matchmaking efforts out in the open, it was a bit harder to hide her reaction to him. But she had to—the last thing she needed was to give him ammunition.

“So, per maman’s plan,” Zabini said, “I suppose _I_ am the only one remaining to assist you in applying that cream.”

Her cheeks were pink, Hattie just knew it. She bit her bottom lip hard enough to sting—it helped her regain control. She considered declining, but thought better of it. She couldn’t do it herself, and if she skipped the cream there was every chance of scarring. She really, _really_ didn’t want more scars. So instead she steeled herself and nodded, then excused herself to fetch the jar the healer had provided.

When she returned Zabini was sitting again, but he’d moved a pouffe in front of the sofa, between his knees. She hesitated just briefly, but when she saw his eyes flicker at her movement and realised he was observing her closely, she gathered herself and kept moving. She was a Gryffindor dammit! They were more than oblivious, thank you very much. They were also brave and bold. She calmly set the jar in his outstretched hand then sat on the cushioned seat. And when she realised she couldn’t unzip her dress without pulling at her scar, she just huffed and asked him to do it.

“Of course,” he murmured.

Zabini spent _far_ too much time easing the zip down to the small of her back. And did his fingers _really_ need to graze her spine so much?

“You’ve worn this dress twice since arriving here. How have you been getting it on and off by yourself?” Zabini wondered aloud.

“Magic,” Hattie explained. “A Dressing Charm to put it on, an Undressing Charm to get it off.”

“Ah. And you didn’t do the same just now because…?”

“Because then,” she said in a slow voice as if talking to an idiot, “I would be _naked_.”

“I would take no offence,” Zabini returned smoothly, opening the jar. “I’m sure it would be a _lovely_ sight.”

She looked over her shoulder to give him a warning look. He gave an innocent one in return, which was rubbish, because she’d gotten to know him well enough these last days to know that Blaise Zabini was anything _but_ innocent.

Just then he dipped his fingers in the jar and began to apply the cream to Hattie’s back. She inhaled a sharp breath and whipped her head back around to face the front when he smirked in response. She considered ignoring the elephant in the room. But no, like she’d thought before, she was a _Gryffindor_. Gryffindors didn’t run.

“You’re flirting with me,” she said evenly as his fingers trailed from her right shoulder blade towards her left hip.

“I am,” he said, suppressed amusement and … something else, in his tone. “Does that bother you?”

“Depends on your motivation.”

“My Maman, though I love her, is a _terrible_ meddler. She’s been trying to set me up with one witch or another since I was fifteen. I know she means well —just wants me to be happy, to have love— so I humour her until she realises it won’t work.”

“Is that why the flirting then?” she asked, hiding her disappointment. “To humour Marie?”

“Hmm. Not quite.”

Her breath hitched as he paused to tug her zipper down further —as far as it would go while she remained sitting— so that he could follow the scar as it curled around her hip. He had to push her dress aside slightly, and it slipped off her shoulder before she lifted a hand to keep it from falling down entirely.

Then Zabini’s fingers returned, smoothing cream across her hip and around to her stomach, dipping slightly to her pelvis. Hattie gave thought to pointing out that she _could_ reach that part of the scar without hurting herself. Well, if considering for a brief second could be counted as ‘giving thought’ to something.

“Not quite?” she prodded, and wasn’t surprised to find her voice a touch shaky.

“No. You see, maman has tried to set me up many times over the years … but this is the first time I’ve felt inclined to go along with her plans.”

And then he was done, and gently zipping her dress back up. Hattie tried not to groan her disappointment aloud, and succeeded. She also tried not to shiver as he traced a line up her arm to catch her shoulder strap and set it back in place, and failed.

“Thank you,” she murmured quietly, feeling a bit off-balance. One second he was flirting and touching and telling her he _wanted_ to go along with Marie’s matchmaking, and the next he was pulling away. What did it _mean?_ She stood up, and he did the same.

“You’re welcome.”

He gave her a long look, then smirked a bit, just a tug of lips. He raised a hand to brush the backs of his fingers against her cheek, and she just _knew_ she was blushing. She lifted her chin defiantly, refusing to let him win this … whatever it was, and he outright _smiled_. And wow, that was… That was a very nice smile.

“Would you accompany me to dinner tomorrow?” Zabini asked.

Hattie blinked. “Are you asking me on a date, Zabini?”

“Yes,” he said simply, with enviable confidence. “Though if you agree, you should really call me Blaise, Potter.”

“Then you ought to call me Hattie, Blaise,” she returned with a teasing smile of her own, feeling a bit giddy. “And you can take that as a yes. Now, it’s getting late. I’m off to bed.”

“I’ll see you at breakfast then.”

* * *

“Aunt Hattie!” Teddy yelled.

Hattie gave a dramatic ‘oomph’ as her godson tackle-hugged her, and pretended to fall to the ground. Her defeat was temporary however, as she promptly began to tickle him.

“Vengeance!” she growled.

Teddy squealed and squirmed away, darting to hide behind an amused Andromeda. He peeked around his grandmother, trying and failing to glare at Hattie since he couldn’t help but grin.

“Hello dear,” Andromeda said, leaning forward to peck her on the cheek. Hattie returned the gesture. “You look well rested.”

“I am. I’ve actually been enjoying this holidaying thing, oddly enough.”

“I _told_ you a break from work was just what you needed.”

After a few more pleasantries Teddy pipped up, begging to go swimming, so they changed and headed down to the beach. With a Flotation Charm applied, they felt safe letting Teddy dive out into the ocean on his own, and sat on their towels in the sand watching him and chatting.

“So,” Andromeda said, and her suddenly-stern voice had Hattie wary at once. “Why, exactly, did I have to learn about your kidnapping from a localgazzetta I spied at the Portkey Centre when I arrived?”

Hattie cringed. “I … didn’t want to worry you?”

“Honestly.” Andromeda sighed long-sufferingly, rolling her eyes. “ _When_ will you learn that letting me find out from somewhere else —and I inevitably _do_ find out, Hattie— is much more worrisome than hearing it straight from you? At least that way I can ask all my questions and be properly reassured all at once.”

“I’m sorry,” she said earnestly, realising she’d screwed up.

“As you should be.” Andromeda relaxed again, though she did send Hattie a faux-accusing look. “And honestly, I send you for a relaxing holiday and you manage to assist in the arrest of a kidnapping ring. Really Hattie?”

“It wasn’t _my_ fault!” she squawked, but laughed a bit. “I _do_ have a tendency to step in it though, don’t I?”

“Trouble magnet,” Andromeda agreed. “So, details. I want to know _exactly_ what happened and if you were hurt.”

Hattie related the whole story, from her disgruntlement at being so easily caught off guard, to her recent stay in the Zabini Villa.

“—and I told her you’d be fine to help with the cream, but Marie still wants me to stay on longer,” Hattie admitted. “She even said to invite you and Teddy along. Said you two were old friends?”

“Yes, we were. Fellow Slytherins, same age. We shared a dorm room for seven years and were friendly, if not exactly friends. We lost contact when I married Ted though. He and I had to lie low for a while, because I was worried about the Blacks doing something stupid over my having married a Muggle-born.” Andromeda shook off the old memories and nodded, smiling a bit. “You know, it might be _nice_ to catch up.”

“So we’ll stay there then?”

“Yes,” Andromeda said slowly. And perhaps there’d been a bit much enthusiasm in Hattie’s voice, for she was now getting an assessing look. “Anything else interesting happen during your holiday?”

“Um, well…” Hattie trailed off. To tell or not to tell? In the end, she figured it wouldn’t stay secret for long with how delighted Marie had been to come back and find out her and Blaise were now … something. “I might be dating Blaise?”

“Might be?”

“He’s taken me for dinner twice, lunch three times, and a picnic on their private beach once,” Hattie said, trying not to let on how _happy_ she was—she didn’t want to jinx it.

“Aw,” Andromeda cooed. “Look at you, all blushes and silly smiles.”

“Shut it.”

Andromeda laughed and then gave her a fond look. “No, really, I’m happy for you. I know I suggested a holiday fling was just what you needed, but it sounds like maybe a bit more than that.”

“I think it is,” Hattie admitted in a quiet voice, picking at the towel beneath her absently. “You don’t think it’s too soon? It hasn’t been long since Ron.”

“Pfft. There’s no right or wrong wait-time after a breakup. If it feels right, if it makes you happy, then go for it. You _deserve_ happiness. Besides, Ronald was the one in the wrong. You have _no obligation_ to some sort of … lingering loyalty to him after that drama.”

Hattie nodded, first hesitantly and then with more confidence. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Ron was the one who screwed that up when he screwed Hermione. I don’t owe him anything.”

“Exactly.”

“And I _am_ happy. Blaise is a bit of a smug bastard at times, but he’s a gentleman and smart and fun to be around.”

“And looks?” Andromeda asked, dark eyes twinkling.

“ _Really?_ ”

“Oh come on. Let this poor old lady live vicariously.”

Hattie rolled her eyes. “Old my ass. You’re gorgeous. I’m not the slightest bit worried about one day reaching your age. Magicals mature so much more gracefully than Muggles.”

“Stop dodging,” Andromeda sing-songed. “Tell me about your Blaise. Is he handsome?”

“He’s … stupidly gorgeous,” Hattie admitted on a sigh. “And worse: he _knows_ it.”

Andromeda laughed.

* * *

Letting Andromeda and Marie renew their acquaintance had been a _terrible_ idea, Hattie reflected a few days later.

“They’re plotting,” Hattie hissed in an aside to Blaise.

Blaise followed her line of sight to the two older women out on the veranda and rolled his eyes. He returned his attention to the breakfast they were preparing together—it turned out that they shared a love of cooking, and their respective motherly figures were more than happy to take advantage.

“Why aren’t you worried?” she demanded.

“I know my maman. She’ll plot as she pleases, and I’ll humour her as _I_ please. And if she tries to steer me somewhere I don’t want to go, I’ll refuse to be led. She respects me enough not to push _too_ much.”

“But…” Hattie trailed off, because that was a perfectly reasonable response actually. She diced the mushrooms a bit more sharply. “I still think we should be worried.”

Blaise hummed and touched a hand gently to her wrist before taking the knife and setting it aside. He wiped his hands on a tea towel, then pinned Hattie against the counter, one hand resting possessively on her hip while the other smoothed up the back of her neck, tangled in her hair, and then he pressed his lips against hers.

It wasn’t their first kiss, but she still melted into it like it was. It was fairly chaste, all things considered, but slow and sensual. Blaise was good at kissing. Okay, maybe he was _fantastic_ at kissing, but Hattie wasn’t about to tell him that. His ego didn’t need boosting.

Their kissing was interrupted by a giggle. Hattie followed Blaise’s gaze over her shoulder to see a pair of currently-yellow eyes and a mop of blue hair peeking over the counter-top. She rolled her eyes.

“Teddy,” she sighed. Her annoyance was entirely faked. She was actually rather pleased that Teddy was so happy about her new relationship. After the divorce with Ron, she had half-expected him to boycott any man that looked her way. “Your grandma was talking about another trip to the beach today.”

Teddy popped up, beamed, and raced outside excitedly to join the others and enquire about the planned trip.

Blaise chuckled. “He cornered me their first day here, you know.”

“What?”

“Mhmm. Gave me a _very stern_ talking-to about treating his auntie properly —as ‘the most amazing witch in the whole wide world’, I believe he phrased it— and not being a ‘hippogriff’s arse like Weasley’, or else he’d have to take ‘epic vengeance’.”

“Oh Merlin.” Hattie covered her face. “He didn’t. He did! He gave you the suitor talk.”

“After I solemnly vowed to never, _ever_ cheat on you, he seemed to warm right up to me. I think he liked that I took him seriously, and that you seem ‘a lot more smiley lately’ according to him.”

Hattie blinked. “You vowed not to cheat on me,” she said slowly. “But we haven’t really talked about exclusivity yet or anything.”

Blaise smirked. “Why do you think I’m bringing it up now?”

“Oh. So. We’re serious?” she asked with a pleased smile.

“Yes. You’re all mine,” he said in a low tone, and dipped down to kiss her again.

They kept kissing until the scent of burnt eggs made them realise they’d neglected the omelettes for too long.

* * *

Hattie had received word that her paid leave was over, and she was expected to return to Auror duty the coming Monday. She’d be leaving the island tomorrow morning, and with it Blaise. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that. She knew she didn’t want _them_ to end. She wasn’t sure how Blaise felt about a long-distance relationship though.

He had arranged another day on the Zabini family’s private beach as a last date before parting. They arrived just after lunch and Hattie was surprised to find a raised pavilion set up by the cliff-face, gauzy curtains hanging all around.

“That wasn’t there last time,” she said.

“I had it built.” Blaise wrapped his arms around her from behind and pressed a kiss to her neck, making her shiver. “Do you like it?”

“I love it,” she said honestly. “It’s beautiful.”

They spent the day swimming in the crystalline blue water, building sandcastles like children, and kissing rather a lot. As the sun began to lower towards the horizon, Blaise took her by the hand and led her up the steps onto the pavilion. With a wave of his wand the braziers at the corners lit up. She was almost sure there was some magic at work making sure the curtains and the wooden corner-posts didn’t catch fire. But honestly, she didn’t give it much in the way of deep thought, too busy admiring the rest of the pavilion. The platform was constructed of wood, but you could hardly tell what with all the plush blankets and pillows that covered the floor.

They sunk into those cushions and enjoyed the evening meal Blaise had prepared, then lay next to one another, staring upward at the sky. The pavilion was open to the stars, which grew brighter and more numerous as the sun finally sunk away and Blaise dimmed the braziers.

“Thank you for this Blaise,” Hattie murmured, rolling towards him and curling into his side. “It’s lovely.”

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her closer, and pressed a kiss to her temple. In that moment Hattie finally came to a decision about something she’d been considering for a while now. Judging by the pavilion he’d had made just for them, and a few other things Hattie had been noticing, Blaise was probably thinking along the same lines too. But, for all his smug confidence, Blaise was a bit too much of a gentleman to press the issue. He’d given the hints though, let her know he was open to it, and let her make the final choice.

Gathering her courage was surprisingly easy. She owed it to no one, least of all Ronald Weasley, to hold back in moving forward. More importantly, she _wanted_ this—she wanted _Blaise_.

“Hattie?” he asked in a low tone when she sat up, sitting astride him.

“Blaise,” she returned in a husky tone of her own and could see, even in the dim light, the way his eyes darkened. “Just how private is this private beach? If anyone looked down from the cliff-top…?”

“Very private,” he growled, hands coming down to grip her hips as she rocked against him slightly. “And the open roof of the pavilion has a One-Way Viewing Spell on it for good measure.”

That was all she needed to know, and she dipped down to press her mouth to his. This kiss was nothing like the usual ones. Oh, it was sensual, but it was _far_ from chaste.

She wasn’t wearing much, just a bikini, and when Blaise tugged at the tie at her back she reached for the neck and tugged it away entirely. Blaise sat up, leaning back on his hands to take in the sight of her with a gratifyingly admiring look on his face.

“Beautiful,” he murmured.

His hands weren’t as large as Ron’s had been, his fingers were more slender and his skin softer. She liked the differences. And she _loved_ that Blaise, unlike Ron, knew just how to touch her. Ron had been eager, but greedy and awkward with it, squeezing and grabbing too roughly. Blaise cupped her breasts instead, and brushed his thumbs maddeningly over her areola.

When one hand slipped away she didn’t have much time to regret it before his mouth was on her. His tongue laved at her nipple and nibbled it gently as his hand pinched and rolled the other one between thumb and finger. Hattie gave a moan as her hips jerked in response to the pleasure. Her moan was returned with a deeper groan from Blaise as she ground against him.

His free hand curved down her side, across the smooth skin of her back where a scar recently lay, and slipped under her bikini bottoms to cup her backside. He squeezed and pressed her down against him as he thrust upwards and Hattie didn’t hesitate to take up a rhythm, rocking and grinding against his hardness through their swimwear.

“I … I need…” she muttered between gasps, head thrown back and hands cupping his head, holding him to his attentions. “Off… Clothes… Take them all off.”

Blaise seemed all for that. His mouth left her breasts at once, and Hattie whined at the loss until he captured her lips instead. His hands went to her hips and wasted no time in tugging loose the convenient ties and pulling the last of her clothes away. He sat up fully so they were both kneeling before one another, tugged off his swim shorts, and then they were both naked.

They took a few long minutes to look, and admire, and trace hands down arms and chests and all that bared skin. And then Blaise gently pushed her back into the pillows and settled half on top of her. His hand smoothed down her front, from her neck, between her breasts, then over her stomach. He didn’t pause a bit before curling two fingers deep inside her.

“Oh!” She thrust down on them. “More.”

Three fingers. He worked them in and out of Hattie until all that could be heard in the quiet of the night were her moans and the wet, slick sound of him bringing her to a gasping climax.

“Fuck,” Blaise cursed as she stared at him dazedly, probably looking completely and utterly wrecked. “Fuck, you’re beautiful. Now. Now?”

Hattie nodded and tugged him over her, and when he slid inside she sighed in satisfaction and pulled him in deeper.

Their moans and groans and cries were echoed back at them by the cliffs above, and if she’d been in a more rational state of mind Hattie would have thought to ask whether the privacy spells protected against _ears_ as well as eyes. She’d probably be very embarrassed later, but for now all she could think of was how it felt, Blaise thrusting into her, long and thick, his body heavy and warm above her. He had one arm around her back for balance as a thumb circled her clit skilfully, driving her higher and higher until they both came apart.

As she drifted in a euphoric afterglow, Hattie felt strong arms gather her close, and a voice murmur in her ear, “Not letting you go.”

* * *

She’d been back in England for two months, and things had settled. Robards had received permission, by the time she returned from leave, to arrest and ‘make an example of’ the next citizens to let their desire to criticise interfere with the upholding of the law. It only took a few exorbitant fines and a few short-term jail sentences for people to get the picture and back off. Old busybodies now stuck to muttering amongst themselves or complaining via the Prophet —not that Hattie read it much these days— rather than confronting Hattie outright.

The stares and whispers had abated almost entirely at work, to the point that slowly Robards was able to write up the Auror rotations with less and less consideration for keeping her and Ron as far apart as possible. It was actually Hattie’s fourth full shift with Ron since their divorce, and since the last one didn’t raise so much as an eyebrow, she’d expected the trend to continue. And yet…

“Alright, what the hell?” she finally snapped, rounding on her nearest co-worker —Proudfoot, unfortunately for him— with a glare. “Why is everyone staring at us again? I thought we were finally old news.”

Proudfoot opened and closed his mouth several times. He looked around with a helpless expression, as if praying for another co-worker to come to his aid. Several other Aurors suddenly looked very busy with paperwork and suchlike.

“I… Umm… Well…”

“Good Merlin man, just spit it out,” Hattie demanded.

There was a sigh then, followed by a rustle of papers being set down and a chair scraping against the floor as someone stood. Given where the sound had come from, Hattie’s brows drew down and she turned to face —yes, just as she thought— Ronald Weasley, slowly approaching her desk.

“Can I help you?” she asked in a brusque but not at all aggressive tone.

“I guess you haven’t seen the Prophet,” Ron mumbled quietly. “Maybe we can talk somewhere private.”

“Look, no, just tell me what it is.”

Ron frowned, and then huffed. “Fine! Me and Hermione are getting married,” he said, perhaps a bit louder than intended in his irritation.

A sudden, endless silence spread throughout the whole office. No one spoke, no quills scratched, no one even breathed.

“Okay,” Hattie replied easily.

The silence took on a confused undertone.

“Okay?” Ron replied.

“Yes, okay. You’re getting married. Thank you for informing me. And now that I’m informed, and _haven’t chucked a fit about it_ ,” she said loudly, looking around the room at people who quickly ducked away from her gaze, “hopefully everyone can stop being such nosy wankers and _get back to work!_ ”

“You’re … okay with it. Just like that.”

She turned back to Ron with a sigh. “Yes of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

She wasn’t being in the least disingenuous. Hattie really couldn’t be bothered with Ron lately—not to feel betrayed or angry or even irritated most of the time. It was like he’d ceased to be of importance, and she _liked it_ that way. Her mind and heart were wrapped up in something else now, some _one_ else. She was too busy being happy and enjoying the weekend trips to Italy that Blaise insisted on —and that she was _more than happy_ to go along with— to angst over what had, in the end, turned out to be a fortuitous disaster. After all, if she’d never caught Ron cheating, there would have been no divorce, no forced holiday … and no Blaise. It really didn’t bear thinking about.

Ron, however, didn’t quite seem to grasp his non-importance. He stood there gaping at her. Except maybe he _did_ understand, a bit, because his face went red and for a few seconds Hattie feared he was about to revert to his teenage self and burst into some ill-thought-out, insecurity-fuelled rant. She hoped not—if he caused a scene like that the office mood would go to shit again, peace forgotten, and Robards would be _pissed_.

Fortunately however, Ron _had_ matured some since those days —even if certain actions made Hattie doubt it at times— and so he snapped his mouth shut before a sound could escape. Slowly the red faded from his face in favour of a thoughtful frown.

“You’re okay with it,” he said for the umpteenth time. Then, in one of those rare but uncanny moments of insight Ron sometimes had, he asked, “Who is he then?”

Hattie froze. “Excuse me?” she asked coolly, ignoring the suddenly-even-more-perked ears of their co-workers.

“You wouldn’t be _this_ okay with it —like, absolutely not caring one tiny bit— unless you’d found someone else too. So who is he?”

Hattie raised an eyebrow at him. She let the silence drag on long enough for Ron to grow uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot, before asking, “Do you really think that’s your business?”

“I—” Ron cut off. And then he sighed. “No, you’re right. Sorry.”

“Good.”

“It’s just…” He lowered his voice, actually enough to foil the eavesdroppers if the frustrated looks were any indication. “I know I have no rights to your business these days. I know I screwed up. And I should have said it ages ago, but I’m sorry. Hermione and I … we always had _something_ , but we both agreed that what you and I had was more important. After everything, you deserved to be happy more than anyone.”

Hattie’s jaw had dropped. “If you’re trying to tell me you married me out of pity—”

“No, of course not!” he whispered fiercely. “I loved you. Of course I did. Still do a bit, and probably always will. I just…”

“Loved Hermione more? And ignored it because you thought I deserved better. And your idea of better for me,” she said with faint incredulousness, “was to be married to a man who was more deeply in love with another woman.”

“I—”

“Go back to work, Weasely.”

Hattie turned back to her paperwork to make clear the conversation was over. The mess of ridiculousness and misplaced intentions that had just been revealed to her wasn’t worth dwelling on. It just wasn’t.

After a pause she heard Ron turn and walk away.

And then, of course, the office exploded into excited whispers.

Hattie rolled her eyes and _despaired_ at knowing that, for the most part, the safety and peace-keeping of magical Britain was in the hands of people who were silly gossips at heart.

* * *

Hattie Apparated directly into the living room of Zabini Villa. She’d been long-since added to the wards and told she was welcome to come right in. Knowing her boyfriend would be there awaiting her arrival, she immediately launched into an incredulous, “You will not _believe_ the rubbish Weasley dumped on me yester—”

Words were abruptly and _thoroughly_ forgotten as she was pounced upon before she could even get her bearings. Before Hattie knew it she was pressed against a wall, knickers lost somewhere in the interim and dress hiked up, clinging to Blaise’s shoulders and gasping as he worked her open with skilful, persistent fingers.

“Fuck … shit … okay,” she huffed. “I’ve no idea … oh god … where this is coming from, but … ah, fuck … if you don’t get in me _right now_ —” Her head rolled back and she whimpered as he did just that.

She couldn’t see the smirk, but she could _feel_ it as Blaise buried his face in her neck and murmured, “Your wish … my command.”

Later — _much_ later— she was curled up naked in Blaise’s bed. His body pressed against her back, and arms were wrapped tightly around her. Hattie shivered when he pressed a gentle kiss to the love bite he’d left on her neck.

“Hmm, what were you saying?” Blaise murmured.

“What?”

“Before, when you arrived.”

“I—”

Her eyes fluttered. One of his clever-fingered hands was cupping her breast, tugging lightly at her nipple. The other traced frustrating, teasing patterns across her stomach, and lower, but never quite where she wanted.

“Well?” Blaise asked again.

“I … don’t remember,” she confessed breathlessly, reaching back to tug his hips closer, arching her own in blatant invitation. “Does it matter?” she asked impatiently.

Teeth scraped her neck, followed by a husky chuckle in her ear, and “No,” Blaise said, sounding very smug for some reason. “It really doesn’t.”

Hattie, for a moment, thought she was missing something. Probably something to explain her boyfriend’s rather possessive mood this evening. What _had_ she been going to say when she arrived? Something about—

But then — _oh_ — Blaise was sliding inside her and really, it didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered but this.

And him.

And _them_.


End file.
